


Like Something From A Storybook

by livlive



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Slow Burn, implied PTSD, past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livlive/pseuds/livlive
Summary: Countess Stella Ulmokina, heiress to a substantial fortune, arrives at Os Alta in ragged traveling clothes, haunted by the long shadows of last year's war and carrying an precious bundle of oilskin-wrapped papers. Nikolai Lantsov, King of Ravka, harbors a year-old secret and has no way of knowing what those rescued documents mean for his future. Zoya Nazyalensky, loyal viper of the Grisha triumvirate, wants her friend and king to pull his head out of his fucking ass.Absurdly self-indulgent Nikolai/OC arranged marriage AU. Grade A romance novel cheese.Rated explicit for adult content in later chapters. Do not read if under eighteen.
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Grishaverse was written as YA lit, so I'm including an additional warning: this worked is rated explicit for adult content in later chapters. Do not read if under eighteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to think OC/Canon fics were trashy, and then I became a better person

Stella pulled her cloak tight as the scorched and broken walls of Os Alta loomed closer. Her feet hurt and the wind nipped at her skin through the worn wool that was meant to keep her warm, but as always the stoicism of her companion reminded her not to complain. She’d told herself every day since leaving the coast that no matter how miserable she was, she wouldn’t complain unless Aruya did. The tall, quiet woman hiking beside her was used to the road and the rough life they’d been leading, and Stella refused to drag her down by being too soft to survive the journey. Besides, complaining changed nothing. It didn’t put more coin in her purse.

Even so, she longed for a warm bed.

Aruya and Stella had been on the road for two weeks. Here and there they’d managed to beg rides from traders heading the same way down the highways, and once they’d even spent a night with a Suli caravan. Otherwise it had been all walking, weak fires at night, and cold ground. Inns weren’t worth the meager coin she still had, not when they were looking down the barrel of possibly having to buy winter passage to Kerch. All in all, it had been a cold and miserable journey.

And now here they were. Os Alta, like so many places in Ravka, still bore the scars of the war. Seeing the broken walls under repair and the myriad other signs that even the capitol was still recovering made Stella feel nauseous. Even after more than a year, there was simply no escaping the darkness that had nearly eclipsed their homeland. And if the capitol was still rebuilding, she knew every smaller city and estate would be even worse off. This was the seat of Ravka, and the countryside lacked its power and prestige and importance. And its coffers. Even Armav… No. Thinking about Armav was too much for now. Her feet ached and her stomach was empty, and she had to focus on the now. One step at a time, and eventually she’d return to Armav.

The gates to the city were thrown wide, and although there was little traffic coming and going so close to lunchtime the bored guards standing watch waved Aruya and Stella through without a second glance. They followed the road into the city proper as it turned from dirt to good stone, and only when they’d wandered a block or two did Aruya finally steer Stella to the side.

“So,” the taller woman asked, glancing around curiously. “Here we are.” Aruya studied their surroundings like they were still in the wilds, like she was hunting them dinner. She would have looked more at home in the wilds, honestly. Her thirdhand clothes were all grimy greens and browns, and it would have been extremely _polite_ to call the mismatched pieces of leather armor she had strapped on over the top of them 'well worn.' Even the holster holding her long-barreled rifle to her back was stained. The rifle itself wasn’t much better off. Between all that and the heavy scars that marred her cheek and jaw, she looked decidedly savage. Even her thick black hair had started to escape its braid, lending to her unkempt appearance.

 _I probably don’t look much better_ , Stella realized glumly. “Yes,” she confirmed needlessly. “It used to be so… Well, this is it.”

Aruya finished studying the sleepy street, her green eyes sharp as ever, and nodded. “I know. Where to then?”

Where to indeed? Stella glanced down at herself, at her pants and her rough wool cloak and the dust and dirt clinging to her like a second skin. They could never do what they came to like this. It pained her to so much as think of parting with more coin, but they had to bathe and change and rest. “An inn,” she ventured. “A cheap one. We… We really should clean up before going on ahead to the palace, I think.”

Aruya let out a grunt and glanced around again. The road wound on in one direction towards what looked to be nicer neighborhoods: manors, estate, fine shops. The other way led back towards the gates but branched off into alleys and narrower lanes. “Your call. Have to head back towards the walls for what’s cheapest. Shall we?”

With a longing glance up the road towards the nicer streets, Stella nodded. “Yes. I suppose. Lead the way, please.”

~

Fortunately, finding an inn wasn’t hard. If they shared a room, it was even cheap. The fact that they both needed baths added to the cost, but there was no helping that. Still, it stung Stella to carefully count out and hand over her hoarded coin. Food and hot water helped to ease the sting just a little. The water smelled a bit strange, and she was a afraid to ask just what was in the congealed stew, but by the end of it all her feet ached less and her belly was full. That was a marginal improvement.

As they settled in for the night, however, she felt a fresh anxiety gnawing at the pit of her stomach. Aruya gave Stella the bed, such as it was, and simply stole Stella’s bedroll to build a nest for herself on the floor. That left Stella alone under scratchy sheets. Whirling thoughts and growing fears kept her from sleep for what felt like hours.

What if her plan failed? All of this really was foolish anyway, wasn’t it? They’d come so far from Armav, and it could all be for nothing. Maybe she should have gone straight to Ketterdam. That was where she needed to be after all, wasn’t it? All the money they’d spent on supplies for the road, on this inn, could have gone straight to buying passage. And it would have been cheaper then than it would be when they would inevitably have to leave Ravka and find a captain willing to brave the winter seas. Besides that, they’d need to buy still more supplies to make the journey back to West Ravka! The snows would come soon, in full force, and their wools and leathers would be useless on the road. There was no way they’d have enough money left to buy passage after that, and that meant this whole detour was just-

“Stella.” Aruya’s hoarse voice cut through the silence. She sounded sleepy and _deeply_ irritated. “You’re picking at the blankets. _Stop_.”

Only then did Stella realize she’d torn half the seam from her travel blanket as she worried. “I’m sorry,” she whispered back, hot embarrassment flooding her. Aruya’s only response was a grunt.

Carefully tucking her hands under her pillow, Stella stared at the rough wooden wall of their tiny room. The prickle of anxiety remained, restless and roiling in her belly. It didn’t seem like something that would disappear any time soon.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

~

By the next morning Stella felt like she was going to be sick all over herself. Breakfast was out of the question. She was reluctant to accept even the water that Aruya forced on her, but the exasperated woman wouldn’t take no for an answer. Stella was half worried she intended to stick around and fuss all morning, but after wolfing down both her breakfast and Stella’s abandoned one Aruya left her alone. “Be back in time to take you to the palace,” she’d promised. “But going to see if I can get a feel for what’s what. Maybe find some work.” Clearly Stella wasn’t the only one concerned about the weight of her purse.

Being alone with her thoughts didn’t help as much as Stella had hoped it would, but at least in the light of day she had necessary tasks to distract her. If she was to go to the palace she had to go prepared. Showing up looking like a street urchin who lost a mud fight wouldn’t get her in the door. Fortunately she’d managed to bring a few things from Armav she hoped would help.

First she pulled out her dress. It was a classic cut in soft green, with a long flowing skirt and a sleeveless bodice. It was hardly winter wear, but the dark rose of her wool cloak would at least complement it. She’d have to clean the cloak, of course, but that wouldn’t be too hard. Getting the wrinkles out of the dress was harder. After wracking her brain fruitlessly for another idea, Stella carefully hung the dress from the windowsill and hoped for the best. It would have to do. Beside it she placed the matching shoes she’d also carried all the way from Armav. Seeing her outfit laid out so made her heart ache something awful. It was one of the only things she had left from her home. Other dresses had gone to bandages or bedding or saints only knew what else, and that was before the estate had been brought to ruin. Saving this much seemed like a miracle in retrospect, but still… No. No, she simply couldn’t dwell. There was no point in it, and she’d only cry again.

Stella was tired of crying.

Next was the matter of her hair. She would have given anything for proper tools, or for a simple trim, but she’d make do with what she could manage. The rented room had a tiny mirror stuck to the wall. Such a luxury was unheard of in cheap establishments outside Os Alta, but it was only natural that proximity to the Fabrikators of the Second Army would help make mirrors and the like a little more affordable. Stella eyed herself critically in the sliver of glass and tried to come up with a plan.

Saints, she looked a mess. Much of the gold of her soft blonde hair had been bleached by the cold fall sun, leaving her with little highlights that weren’t necessarily unflattering but were certainly unintentional. Despite her best efforts to keep herself tidy during their travel, her hair was frizzy and frayed at the ends. Her face wasn’t much better. The sun had left her red in the cheeks, and the bags under her eyes stood out sharply against her light skin. Worse, her lips were completely raw. Stella ran a finger across her lower lip and winced. She must have been biting them without realizing it again. Well, there was nothing she could do about that. Makeup was nothing more than a futile wish. But her hair, at least, she could tame.

By the time Aruya returned, Stella felt almost presentable. The fit of her dress made it clear she had lost weight. That was hardly surprising, though a little unsettling. She’d always had trouble keeping weight _on_ , and she wasn’t sure how much she could spare. But even with next to nothing in the way of supplies, she knew enough about stitchery to pin it so the fit was a little more flattering. Her cloak actually looked fairly nice once it was cleaned, though it wasn’t at all what she would have chosen to wear to the palace in another lifetime. Her shoes fit, and her hair was serviceable once she had it twisted back and pinned in place. It would all have to do.

Her last task was making sure every paper was where it was supposed to be. That was what she was tending to when Aruya arrived. Wrapped tightly in oilcloth and hidden away in a pocket inside her pack next to a copy of her parents’ will and business documents, the papers had survived the journey. That was a blessing. They all ended up on the bed, sorted neatly into stacks. The largest stack was the letters her parents had written. Mama had never been one to know when enough was enough. The stack of letters they’d received was shorter, but consisted mostly of good, thick vellum instead of the thinner paper Mama and Papa had sent. The third stack was the smallest, and Stella was poring over it for what felt like the thousandth time when her guard returned.

There was no point in rereading the contract. Stella knew it all by heart by now. Every detail, from the shape of the signatures and seals to the date that had been set, was burned into her memory. She reread it anyway.

“You’re gonna drive yourself crazy.” Stella didn’t look up when Aruya spoke from the doorway. The door had creaked as it opened, announcing the woman’s return, and it creaked again as Aruya let it shut. “Reading it again.”

“I know,” Stella admitted in a small voice. She was on the last page already, and she couldn’t help but reach out to run her finger around each of the wax seals. They were so smooth still. Relics from the world before the war. “I can’t help it. I just feel like I have to… Like I should be able to recite it if they ask me to. You know how this is all going to sound to them.”

“Crazy,” Aruya confirmed. “We’ve been over it, Stella. But you’re the one who wanted to tell him. So let’s get it done. Dawdling costs you time you don’t have.” Her words were surprisingly gentle. Cleaned up some now, Aruya looked less wild. Her eyes were warm as she studied Stella, and when Stella glanced up and saw that warmth there she was hit all over again with a rush of gratitude. Aruya hadn’t had to come with her. She’d just been the huntmaster before, a hunting guide who Papa had hired to feed his hounds and lead drunken men out to hunt boar and bear. Then, when the war came…

War changed everything. Armav wasn’t an important place, but it was far enough from what people thought to be the focus of the fighting that the estate had soon be overwhelmed with refugees. Mama had been horrified, totally unsure of how to proceed, and that was before the Darkling had come to hunt Grisha children. The Second Army’s youngest were to the east, guarded by brave men and women Stella had later learned were slaughtered and hanged, but apparently the refugees of Armav had been too tempting a target to ignore. His army had stopped there, in a night of darkness and horror and slaughter. Even remembering it now, Stella could feel panic claw at her throat. She could remember the screaming and the blood and the darkness. The Darkling’s monsters, creatures of living shadow she’d only heard about in horrifying rumors that trickled in with the refugees, had descended on Armav with no warning. The slaughter had begun immediately. They’d shattered windows and broken down doors. She’d looked out a window to see them crawling across the grounds of her family’s manor like a squirming horde of insects and filling the sky in writhing black clouds that blocked out the moon and stars. She could remember running, searching for Mama and Papa in hopes that they could rally what guards the estate had. It had been then, while she was rushing about like a fool, that Aruya had burst into the estate with demons on her heels. She looked like something out of a horror story, a madwoman wrapped in leather bleeding from vicious wounds on her face and throat, but on seeing Stella she had stopped in her tracks and turned to face the things hunting her. Stella didn’t remember much of what happened after that. There had been a fight, Aruya had told her later, and partway through it the demons had retreated. The call of their master had pulled them from the field before they could finish off Aruya and Stella, and the two women had been left to try and fend for the survivors of the Armav Massacre.

 _And what a job we did of it_ , Stella thought, dropping her gaze to the contract again. It had been more than a year. The dead were buried and the war was over, but Armav was still broken. People’s homes were little more than ruins. A few buildings remained, now turned into hospitals and homes packed with too many families. The structures that had been rebuilt were flimsy and cobbled together from rubble. They wouldn’t last the winter well. Even the manor was decaying already, filled with too many people and cold at nights. The fields bore no fruit. No one had money for seed, and what had been left in storage had been burned or spoiled or pulled out even before the massacre to feed the hungry. People were starving, and there was no infrastructure to support them. No coin. With Mama and Papa dead, there could be no coin until Stella solved the problem posed by their stupid, stupid will.

“I know,” she murmured, and only on speaking did she realize there was a lump in her throat. “I know. I just…” She swallowed hard and put the contract back in order, then took a deep breath and lifted her head. “I just wanted to be ready. But we should go, shouldn’t we?”

“You should.”

Stella looked up, surprised and immediately worried. Apparently that worry was written all over her face, because Aruya immediately forestalled her questions with a raised hand.

“I found some work,” she explained. “That’s all. I’m not leaving you, worrier. Just going to get us some coin. You know I won’t be any help at the meeting anyway.”

 _You’ll help me feel better._ Stella didn’t want to go to the palace without her friend, but there was no good reason to ask Aruya to stay. How much of last night had she herself spent worrying about their finances? If Aruya could get them money, they needed it. “That… makes sense, I suppose. I’ll meet you back here this evening, then?”

“Of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the only time I'll ever publish two chapters at once.

Fortunately for nervous Stella, finding the Grand Palace was easy. It was a stunning structure that towered over the districts around it, some three stories high and ornamented with gold. The huge fountain in the courtyard would have taken Stella’s breath away if she’d been visiting for pleasure. It was decorated with a grand double eagle, the symbol of the Lantsov line. Even here, however, there were still signs of the war. An entire wing of the palace was under construction, and though the rubble of its original destruction was gone it was far from being made whole and beautiful again. Despite those scars, the palace remained a marvel.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t walked two weeks to gape at the finery. Stella’s destination was _inside_ the palace. With no connections in the court and almost nothing to her name, she had no idea how to actually get to where she needed to be, so when she rounded the lovely double-eagle fountain in the courtyard she made a beeline for the guards standing to attention outside the wide, closed palace doors.

“Excuse me,” she called out politely as she lifted her skirt to climb the steps. “I was hoping-”

“No open court today, miss.” The guard’s interruption was polite but firm. Up close now, Stella could see that he was shockingly young. He couldn’t have been much more than a year or two younger than her, not if he was trusted with guarding the palace, but he _looked_ young. “Two more days ‘til then.”

“Oh? I’m, ah, not actually here for open court,” she replied, still smiling. As irritating as the interruption was, she was sure the man was just doing his job. There was no point in being rude back. Besides, a little blush colored his cheeks when she corrected him. That was gratifying. “Actually, I’m seeking a meeting with the king. My name is Countess Stella Ulmokina of Armav.” Both guards stood a little straighter when they heard her title. Good. She hated to throw out titles so, and felt terribly pretentious, but she _had_ to get inside. “I’ve very urgent business I _must_ speak with him about.”

The guards exchanged looks, and Stella felt a pang of guilt when she spotted worry in their eyes. This had to be awkward for them.

“Ah… We’ve received no notice of the king receiving visitors.” The other guard was an older woman with a light Kaelish accent. “Are you expected in the palace?” She chose each word delicately, clearly leery of giving offence.

“We’ve not had the chance to send ahead to arrange a meeting,” Stella replied honestly. She offered the guard a warm, sheepish smile, hoping to put her at ease. “I was hoping you could let me in and escort me to whomever I need to speak with to find him?”

Once again, the guards glanced at each other. The younger one shifted nervously. “I… I don’t think we can abandon our posts, ma’am. It’s-”

“It’s a bit unusual for a noble to arrive this way,” the other broke in. “Normally there would be someone here to greet you. I really don’t think we can just let you in.”

Fresh anxiety bubbled up in the pit of Stella’s stomach, but she tried to hide it. When she spoke, however, she could hear more worry in her words than she wanted to express. “I quite understand that it’s unusual, but this is an unusual circumstance. It’s incredibly important that I speak with King Nikolai.”

“Ma’am, I understand, but-”

“Ah, there you are!”

Stella jumped in surprise and turned to see a strange man climbing the marble steps. He had a pointed chin, a strange reddish shade of hair that reminded her faintly of a fox, and muddy green eyes that sparkled as he waved. At her. Why in the name of all the saints was he waving at her? Did he have her confused with someone else? Brow scrunched up in confusion, Stella had her mouth open to ask him his name when suddenly he leapt up the last two steps and embraced her. She stiffened immediately, just swallowing a sharp, indignant shriek, and felt his breath was warm against her ear.

 _“Go with it,_ ” he whispered.

_With what?_

He released her as suddenly as he’d hugged her, but he kept one arm over her shoulder as he turned to the guards. They both stood at even sharper attention now, so straight-backed it looked painful. “Oh! Let’s see. Jeyna and Martin, right? Good to see you. Sorry for the confusion. I wasn’t expecting my friend to arrive so soon.” He gestured to Stella. She tried to relax, but anxiety and worry kept her tense. Still, she managed a small smile and nod. “I’ll escort her in. No need to worry yourselves.”

The Kaelish guard nodded, and the younger guard looked relieved. “Of course, Captain Sturmhond. Thank you kindly.” As she spoke she reached back and rapped her spear against the door in a quick staccato. Almost immediately, the doors started swinging open.

As soon as there was room for them, the man at Stella’s side nudged her forward and through the entryway. Inside was a wide foyer, all marble and gold. Halls branched off it at the ground level, and an massive set of staircases spiraled up to a second floor. It was a truly impressive room, decorated in gold and fine paintings of Ravka and the nation’s past kings and queens, but Stella didn’t have a chance to take in the splendor of it. The very moment the doors slammed shut behind them she was extracting herself from Sturmhond’s arm with a stern little noise. “I’m- I thank you, sir, but-”

“But you have no idea who I am.” Sturmhond held up both hands with a bright smile and laughed. He was dressed in clothes that were more functional than fine, but Stella could tell by the cut of them that they hadn’t been cheap. It was mostly warm, thick wool, but his high boots were leather. At his hip he wore a revolver and a sword, the leather of his sheath and holster a match to the boots. “It’s fine. No need to be worry. I apologize for taking you by surprise, but it looked like you could use a little help.” He bowed slightly, still smiling. “Captain Sturmhond, at your service. I couldn’t help but overhear you’re trying to get to King Nikolai?”

Stella blinked. What in the name of Sankta Alina was she supposed to make of this man? He’d helped her, but… goodness. “Ah, yes. Actually. Thank you, Captain. My name’s St- I am Countess Stella Ulmokina. And I’m terribly grateful for your help. I don’t suppose you know how I could go about meeting with the king? It’s quite urgent.”

“Urgent?” Sturmhond straightened up and cocked a brow, still smiling pleasantly. “What kind of urgent, might I ask? As it so happens, I was on my way to meet with him myself. I’d be happy to pass along a message.”

Stella could feel herself light up. Hope washed through her, a soothing contrast to the bitterness of her anxiety. If this captain could help her get to the king- but wait. There was only so much she could say, wasn’t there? She could hardly tell him the truth, not when it was so sensitive. Her teeth worried her lip as she slipped a hand into the folds of her cloak to gently touch the oilcloth bundle of papers she’d tucked into a pocket. “That’s quite kind of you, Captain,” she ventured cautiously. “But it’s something of a sensitive matter. Perhaps you could just tell him that I need to meet with him? I assure you, it truly is important.”

Sturmhond’s smile faded a little, and he studied Stella more closely. His features were so odd. They were sharp, except where his nose had clearly been broken and distorted, but there was something else about them that seemed off too. What it was, Stella couldn’t say, but it pricked at her mind. “With all due respect, Countess, many things are urgent to many people for many reasons. It would be very helpful if you could give me _something_ to tell the king. He’s a busy man, you know.”

She almost wilted in the face of that pointed reminder. Of _course_ she knew King Nikolai was busy. He was the king! And that was the whole problem, and the whole reason she was here. But she could hardly just tell this captain everything, no matter how helpful he wanted to be. “I promise, Captain Sturmhond, I would tell you if I felt I could,” she said, holding out her hands pleadingly. If she had to sound desperate, she would sound desperate. It wasn’t something she had to pretend at. “Please suffice it to say I’ve traveled a very long way on very little, and for good reason. I _must_ meet with King Nikolai. Even if he can only spare a few minutes for me.”

Sturmhond’s odd features were impossible to read as he watched her. As the silence stretched out, echoing in the marble room, Stella began to feel certain he was about to deny her. That certainty weighed her down like a rock, like heavy metal shackles dragging her into deep water, and she was sure she was about to drown.

And then he nodded. It was a quick, sharp gesture. “Alright, Countess. Keep your secrets. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll pass your message on to the king. You’re probably best off waiting here and not wandering.”

A breath burst free of Stella, one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It made her feel lighter, banishing the drowning weight, and she nodded quickly again and again. “Of course. Thank you, Captain Sturmhond. I’m terribly grateful, and in your debt. Thank you.”

The captain smiled again, a tiny and amused look. “You’re quite welcome, Countess. Just remember I didn’t promise you anything.” With that he turned and strolled away through the foyer, leaving Stella alone in the vast marble expanse.

~

The foyer was fifty-nine paces across. Stella knew, because she’d counted. Three times. She knew pacing was an awful habit, especially in public, but she couldn’t help herself. There was nowhere to sit, and she could only study the paintings so many times before she got bored. And she certainly couldn’t stand still. The longer she was left alone the more nervous she felt about what was to come. Her mind buzzed with a thousand horrible possibilities that vied violently for her attention. What if the king thought her a fraud? Would he throw her in jail? Or what if Sturmhond was just a stranger? A liar? Was he even meeting with the king, or was she just going to pace here until a guard found her and realized she didn’t belong and threw her back into the street?

The imagined outcomes made her ill if she tried to stand for too long, so she’d started pacing. Once she’d started, she couldn’t easily stop. _One, two, three, four, five, six…_ Saints help her, it was so warm in the foyer. Or maybe she was just panicking again? Well didn’t she have a right to? _Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…_ Had she even made the right choice in coming here? No. No, she _had_ to believe she had. She had to talk to him before she went to Ketterdam. It was the right thing to do. _Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven…_ But what would he say? Oh Saints, what if he already knew and had decided the matter wasn’t worth his time to address? Then this truly would be a fool’s errand. _Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two…_ This _had_ all been a mistake, surely. _Thirty-six, thirty-seven…_ Surely-

“Countess Ulmokina?” A cool voice broke through the silence of the foyer, and Stella stopped in her tracks with a start. She glanced around wildly, her heart racing, and spotted a woman standing halfway up one of the grand staircases that led up to the second floor. The sight of her made Stella’s breath catch in her throat. She was a beautiful woman, dark-haired with eyes like blue gemstones, but what stood out most sharply was the rich fur-lined _kefta_ she wore. Blue, with silver embroidery along the sleeves. A Squaller.

Stella had known Grisha before, but not many before the war. Mama had hated them. They scared, her Stella had realized a long time ago, and Mama had always met fear with scorn. Papa mediated her vitriol somewhat, always insisting that Grisha were quite useful, but he was always quieter than Mama was. Stella, meanwhile, had pitied the Grisha.

Until she’d realized just what they could do. The civil war had changed so many things. It had been the first time Stella had seen Grisha power truly unleashed, for good and ill. She’d seen an elderly Corporalnik tending to refugees in Armav for days on end without so much as a nap, and she’d seen how determined Rylen, Papa’s Fabrikator researcher, had been to make sure everyone who had a weapon had a sharp one. She’d even seen Aruya unleash her powers, unusual as they were. But she’d also seen the Darkling’s army. That was Grisha magic too.

The Grisha were complex and alien, yet somehow very human. They were walking legends, and with a sinking feeling Stella realized she knew the gorgeous Grisha woman watching her with an arched brow. _Everyone_ knew her. She was Zoya Nazyalensky, Squaller and queen of the Grisha Triumvirate.

Stella had never felt quite so outclassed in her life.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied politely, straightening her back and praying that the woman hadn’t been watching her pace for long. “That is me. And you are?”

“Zoya Nazyalensky.”

Stella’s heart sank.

“I’ve been sent to take you to King Nikolai,” Zoya continued, gliding down the last few stairs. She appraised Stella in a thorough once-over, and managed to convey utter disdain with a single twist of her lips. “It _is_ Countess, yes?”

“Yes.” Next to Zoya’s finery and beauty, Stella felt decidedly grubby. But she refused to show it. Even if she didn’t feel particularly brave or strong or beautiful, she could always pretend. “Countess of Armav. I know the king isn’t expecting me, but I have important business with him.”

Zoya sounded unimpressed. “So I gathered.” She offered Stella a tight-lipped smile, then turned and started back up the stairs. “Come along. He has some time for you.”

With a deep breath, Stella followed.

The palace seemed very empty and quiet as they walked down fine halls lined with thick carpets and adorned with paintings and tapestries aplenty. Zoya was a silent companion at first, for which Stella was grateful. But blessings rarely lasted long.

“What brought you to the palace?” the Grisha asked suddenly as she led Stella up another twisting staircase. Apparently she was to meet the king on the third floor. “I assume you’re not traveling so far for pleasure, and you don’t strike me as a newly-made Grisha.” There was just enough of a bite to the last to make it clear it was an insult, but not so much that Stella could justly react to being stung. Zoya was _good_.

“As I said,” she replied cautiously. “Business.” Unlike the strange Captain Sturmhond, Stella _knew_ Zoya was a confidant of the king. Even so Stella was still reluctant to say much more. It didn’t seem right to present the matter to anyone but Nikolai. “It has to do with prewar business between my family and the throne,” she added, hoping that would forestall further prying.

It didn’t.

“I was unaware the crown had extensive dealings with… Armav,” Zoya replied without looking at Stella. “Curious. What manner of business?”

Despite her nerves, Stella couldn’t help the little bit of irritation that was starting to well up in her. She knew her temper could be awful when she let it be, but Zoya was so… Well, she was perfect. Famous. And she was _snippy_. “Business I’d really rather discuss with the king himself,” she replied with a bit of bite. Saints help her, snapping was a bad idea. But she couldn’t help it.

Fortunately, if Zoya was bothered she didn’t show it. She _did_ stop with her questions, but then she also stopped walking and Stella realized with a fresh wave of nausea that they must have arrived at their destination. The carved wooden door was surprisingly plain. This couldn’t be a reception room, could it? It didn’t seem nearly ornate enough- oh _Saints_. It must have been some sort of private office. Not at all what she was expecting.

As Zoya rapped her knuckles against the door, Stella swallowed and straightened her back. Her hands fluttered along her skirt, smoothing it as best she could, and she prayed that she still looked at _least_ presentable. Pretty might be out of the question, at least so long as she stood next to Zoya, but she’d settle for presentable.

If someone had told her two years ago that she’d be presented to the King of Ravka dressed in an old wrinkled summer dress and a secondhand wool cloak, she would have been horrified. But here she was. In hell.

“Come in,” a muffled voice called from the other side. A man’s voice.

 _Saints help me._ Stella thought. _Sankta Alina, if you’re listening, please tell him to be kind._ They’d known each other, after all, the king and the saint. Maybe if Alina was listening, she’d take pity on Stella.

Zoya opened the door and strode in like she owned the place, leaving Stella to catch the door and slip inside behind her.

 _Goodness. It really is his office._ There was no doubt that the cozy space was a private office, and it was certainly fit for a king. It was all dark wood and chairs with thick cushions, and a neat sort of clutter that made the room look smaller than it was. Bookshelves lined the walls, stacked high with all manner of texts, while a series of shelves ran underneath the wide window that made up the northern wall. They were adorned with all manner of trinkets: little knives, rocks with flecks of crystal, a model ship, an ancient stuffed hound. A fireplace ate up space along the eastern wall, warming a half circle of four chairs set before it. A red-haired woman in a red _kefta_ stitched with blue thread sat curled up in one of the chairs, and she smiled warmly at Stella when she entered. As soon as Stella saw her scars, she knew she was looking at another member of the Triumvirate: Genya Safin, the First Tailor.

What truly dominated the room was the sturdy desk in the heart of it, a massive affair covered in stacks of papers that seemed less sorted and more shoved into place wherever they fit. Behind that desk, on his feet and leaning over it with his gloved hands braced against the wood like he’d just looked up from studying something, was one of the most handsome men Stella had ever seen in her life.

 _Saints_.

He had dark golden hair, neatly trimmed, and clear hazel eyes that seemed to glitter in the mid-morning light streaming in through the window. The noble cut of his features, all strong jaw and elegant cheekbones, made him look like something out of a fantasy. The only obvious imperfection was his nose. It was crooked, like it had been broken before, and that little detail somehow finished his look perfectly. He was dressed in a rich red coat lined with gold details and flattering tan pants obviously tailored to him. The fabric of his white tunic looked silky, and Stella would have killed for a bolt to sew with. He wore it well.

_Saints help me._

“Countess Ulmokina, I presume?” he asked with a smile as he straightened from the desk. His voice had a surprisingly rough quality to it, a hoarseness like he was losing it.

“Yes,” Stella replied automatically. She swept herself down into a delicate curtsey without conscious thought, and for once she was grateful for her mother’s training. The hours spent on etiquette and the endless practice of every little nicety may not have been easy or enjoyable, but at least it had made some things automatic. “Your Highness. Thank you so much for meeting me.” She straightened and forced her hands to stay at her sides. She wanted to worry at her skirt, but this was _not_ the time for such anxious little gestures. _Back straight_ , she could hear Mama scolding. _Chin level! Act like a lady._ “I’m sure you’re quite busy.”

The king let out a little laugh like Stella had just said something funny. The hoarseness was there, too, adding a burr to his laughter. “I always am, it seems. But I’m happy to make time for the Countess of Armav. Especially when she comes on urgent business.” He smiled again, warm and welcoming. Despite herself, Stella felt a little more at ease. “How can I help you, Countess?”

 _Deep breath. Back straight. Remember your station, girl, you’re not some urchin off the street._ The echoes of Mama’s voice were growing sharper and less pleasant. “Your Highness,” Stella began slowly, refusing to fidget or shift. She could feel Zoya’s eyes on her, and Genya’s, and when she looked at King Nikolai she wanted to look down at her feet. But she refused to. She would look him in the eye for this. Crying and nerves and shaking could come later. “I haven’t come seeking help. I’m…” Where were the words she rehearsed a hundred times on the journey here? Aruya had been right. They were gone as soon as Stella needed them. “This is… going to sound mad, I think. And I hope you’ll forgive me, Your Highness. But I felt I had to… well, inform you.” Saints, her mouth felt dry. At least her voice was steady. That was an accomplishment, with the king staring at her with one eyebrow raised and that warm little smile still on his face. Stella took a little breath. _Out with it, girl! You’re the daughter of a count, not some lost little idiot!_ “I believe, Your Highness, that you and I are engaged.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adding the slow burn tag because this was a past NaNoWriMo project and it's like 11,000 words before they even decide if they're gonna get married or not

Nikolai blinked. And blinked again. And, despite himself, glanced at Zoya. Her eyes were wide, and it was her surprise- a rare and worrying thing to see- that brought him crashing back to earth. “I… see.” Well that wasn’t an eloquent response. But how was he supposed to respond to _that?_

When he’d first seen the young woman on the castle steps, he’d never have guessed she was noble. She was lovely, to be sure. On the short side, and petite, but with a lovely face and light blonde hair that reminded him of Alina. Maybe that was why he’d decided to help her: his eternal weakness for towheaded blondes. But she hadn’t looked _noble_. Not dressed the way she was, at least. Fashion was a language he spoke quite well, and her dress had been too simple for a countess’ trip to the royal palace. Her cloak was more like something prized by a farmer’s wife than anything a noblewoman would wear.

But then he’d heard his name, and his curiosity had been piqued. His second eternal weakness.

Never in a thousand years would he have guessed _this_ would be her business. Marriage. There were more than a few noblewomen (and men) of varying ages who’d tried very hard to make his marriage their business, but none had been so bold as to just tell him that he was already engaged to them. Until now, apparently.

“Of all the urgent business I’ve had brought to me lately, this is the most unique,” he finally told the countess, giving her another quick once-over. She looked nervous. It was well-hidden, but it was there. Her hands were pressed too tight to her sides, and she was too still. She had to be focusing on keeping herself steady. “I take it this _isn’t_ a bold attempt at courtship?” Nikolai made sure to infuse his words with a touch of teasing. Whatever this woman’s business or plan was, he didn’t want to scare her off until he understood the gist of it.

“No, Your Highness.” She nodded at him, still stiff and steady, and reached on hand into her cloak. Behind her, just out of her sight, Zoya stiffened. Genya looked more curious than anything else. There was a twinkle in her eye, like she was watching a delightful play. _Some guard you are,_ he thought _._

Fortunately their little visitor didn’t pull out a knife or a gun. Instead she presented a heavy-looking oilcloth bundle, which she carried forward and delicately set on Nikolai’s desk. Up close, she looked gaunt. Were countesses supposed to be so skinny? “I found this in my parent’s effects while I was trying to sort out their estate,” she explained, stepping back once more.

As she spoke Nikolai tugged the bundle close and unwrapped it to reveal a thick stack of papers. Three stacks, actually, each tied with a little thread. The topmost papers looked like letters. He plucked the thread and pulled one out to scan, only taking in a few words here and there, then began slowly flipping through the stack in search of a signed page.

“Those are from my parents to yours,” Stella explained. Sure enough, he soon found a signature next to a seal he vaguely recognized as a seal of one of the West Ravkan counties. Armav, presumably. “The next are from the throne. Your father and mother, Your Highness.” She sounded almost apologetic.

Nikolai didn’t bother flipping through the second stack of papers. He knew his mother’s handwriting as soon as he saw it. Still, he couldn’t help scanning the first page. _Lovely to have met you at the ball… How is your daughter? … Have you for a visit… Must talk more…_ It all seemed so perfunctory. Gut clenching unpleasantly, he set aside the second stack and reached for the third.

This time Stella offered no explanation. When he glanced up at her, worry was written in the furrow of her brow and the tension in her jaw. _Not a good liar. Or_ extremely _good at pretending she isn’t._ Then he turned to the papers with a frown. _In the name of the saints past and to come…_ blah blah blah… _do decree, for the good and glory of…_ blah blah blah… _a union of two great houses…_ blah blah blah… And there were their names. Stella Ulmokina. Nikolai Lantsov. There was even a date set. And below that, two sets of signatures in four different hands, and two neat seals to add an official finishing touch.

Nikolai was holding a marriage contract with his name on it, and for once in his life he had no idea what to say. He didn’t like the sensation much at all.

 _When were they going to tell me?_ He frowned and flipped back to the first page of the contract to skim it again. _When were they going to tell_ her _?_ It seemed the countess had received no more forewarning of this than he. _Saints and demons._ As he reached the end of the contract again and saw those two seals staring up at him, mute and judging, he knew damn well the silence was dragging on too long.

He still had no idea what to say.

“I… I don’t mean to hold you to the agreements of our parents.” Nikolai wanted to thank every saint in heaven, and the one on earth, for Stella breaking the silence. He quickly looked up from the contract to find her watching him anxiously. Apparently there was a limit to how long she could try to contain it. “I know so much has changed,” she continued softly, her fingers starting to worry at the edge of her cloak.

Nikolai almost wanted to snort at that one. _Everything_ had changed. For one, his parents surely hadn’t planned on picking out a future queen when they signed the contract. For another… Well. He had changed in more ways than one.

“I’m sure you… you have other… priorities,” she continued. “But I didn’t think it was right to not tell you.”

“I appreciate that,” he responded slowly, setting aside the contract. He glanced at Zoya and Genya to find only the latter watching him. Zoya was studying Stella intently, her eyes narrowed. Genya was grinning from ear to ear and looked like she was about to burst. “Well Countess, this certainly is… unexpected.” He turned on a smile. “And I’m not surprised often, so I must commend you on that count.” She didn’t seem any more at ease for his attempts at charm. Oh well. “I’m sure you understand if I have to take a night to ponder matters? And check my parent’s papers, of course.”

She nodded quickly. “Of course. I understand. And I do mean it when I say I don’t want to hold you to this if you don’t wish it, Your Highness. Sincerely.”

“You seem very sincere,” he replied honestly. And she did. She seemed anxious and worried and tired, but sincere. “I think it might be best if we met again to discuss this tomorrow. I assume you have lodging in the city?”

“…yes, Your Highness.” Her hesitation was slight, and Nikolai was careful to conceal that he’d picked up on it. “I can call again at your convenience.”

“Let’s say noon.” That would give him time to plan. In another life he could have spent the night plotting and met her in the morning, but now… “I’ll make sure the guards are expecting you this time.”

Clearly aware that she was being dismissed, Stella curtseyed again. “Thank you, Your Highness. I will be prompt, I promise.”

Nikolai couldn’t help but smile again. “Yes, I’m sure you will be. I look forward to it, Countess. Zoya?”

The glare the Squaller shot his way made Nikolai grateful that looks couldn’t kill. Or at least that Zoya’s couldn’t. Yet. “Yes?” she bit out. _Don’t do it_ , her eyes said.

He did it anyway. He’d hear all Zoya’s opinions on this matter in time. She’d make sure of that. But for now, he needed a minute to think. “Would you mind seeing the countess out?”

The grinding of her teeth was audible. “Of _course_.” She didn’t say a word to Stella as she stormed out the door, and the poor countess almost got hit in the face with it as she tried to follow. He offered her an encouraging smile when she glanced back, but he was wincing internally. Maybe sending her with Zoya had been cruel. No, not maybe. Zoya _was_ cruel. Nikolai just needed her gone for five minutes. He could handle Genya’s inevitable enthusiasm, but not Zoya’s sweet poison. Not yet.

The door was barely shut behind Zoya and the poor countess when Genya leapt to her feet. _“Nikolai!_ ” she squealed, rushing to the desk in a blur of red and blue to paw at the papers Stella had left behind. “Oh, this is too perfect. She seems _darling_. What luck for us!”

There was more chatter, but Nikolai tuned it our as he rescued a letter in his mother’s handwriting from Genya’s enthusiastic browsing.

Engaged. Nikolai knew he would have to read over the letters and contract in detail to confirm the countess’ claims, and it wouldn’t hurt to try and search through his parents’ papers to see if they left anything relevant behind. But it would be far too bold of the anxious little countess to lie about such a thing _and_ leave falsified proof behind. It took a certain fearlessness to get into the palace without advance welcome, of course, but she didn’t seem be quite so brave as to hand over forged documents and demand a marriage.

Not that she’d been demanding. Nikolai frowned and tossed the letter back on the desk, then sank back into his chair. “Did she seem like she wants this?” he asked, interrupting Genya’s chatter. “The engagement.”

“I’m not sure,” Genya replied promptly. She didn’t bat an eye at being ignored or interrupted. “I couldn’t get much of a read on her. She was nervous. Her heart was racing like mad.” Genya stopped at the end of one letter to pick thoughtfully at a double eagle seal. “But I don’t think she lied to you about anything. At least, not that I picked up on.”

“Hm.” Nikolai tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, the leather of his gloves thudding softly against the wood. It would have been easier if she was a liar. As it was… Well, she was a noblewoman. And eligible. His age. Probably able to have children. She even had his parent’s blessings, and _that_ conferred a legitimacy he couldn’t underestimate. In another world she would have been perfect. A ready-made match to help him further secure his throne and ensure that the line of Ravkan rulers would continue in perpetuity.

But in _this_ world, he still had his own special little problem standing in the way of happy matrimony. “Do you know anything about her family?” he asked, his eyes drifting to the window. It was a lovely day out. And still early. Saints, this was going to be what the entire rest of his day was about, wasn’t it?

“I don’t think they were ever at court much,” Genya replied, finally picking a few letters to take back to her seat. “The wife would sometimes try to sweet talk your mother when she was here, which is the only reason I ever saw her. They’re new money, and I think she wanted status. You know how old money treats the new.”

“New or old, money is something we still need.”

“Oh, I know that.” Genya shrugged. “I’ve no idea if they still have it. Between the war and all that trouble your little friend stirred up in Ketterdam, it could be all gone by now. But rich or poor, she seems awfully sweet.” The Tailor grinned brightly. but Nikolai could see the devil in her remaining eye. “Maybe she’ll teach you some manners.”

 _And maybe Brekker will take up knitting, and Alina will leave Mal for me._ “Don’t talk about maybes just yet, Genya. It’s not like we’ve agreed to anything.”

“And why wouldn’t you?” she shot back. “I _know_ Zoya doesn’t let you forget about the heir issue. You should hear her fret about it. And this Stella seems nice. Too nice for you, certainly, but very much nice enough to be a mother.”

“And nice enough not to mind her husband chained to the bed at night?” Nikolai asked with an arched brow. Anger and hurt stirred in his breast, like they always did when this topic came up, but he refused to let them reign. If he was stuck with his own personal demon, he’d at least deny the Darkling the posthumous satisfaction of knowing how miserable it made him. “No matter how nice or rich she might be, Genya, demonic transformation isn’t exactly what most women look for in a husband. Or so I’m told.”

“Maybe she has unusual tastes.”

“I highly doubt-”

Before Nikolai could finish, the door slammed open. A gust of wind burst into the room, sending papers flying, and following it came Zoya. Both the king and Genya turned to look at her, Nikolai with just a healthy amount of fear and Genya with faint disapproval. Neither made a move to grab the papers sent flying by Zoya’s fit.

“I can’t _believe_ ,” she hissed, marching into the room and planting her hands on Nikolai’s desk. “That you sent me away like that. And that you didn’t tell her yes.” She leaned in close, and even with his practiced nerve Nikolai found it hard not to lean away. “You _are_ going to tell her yes.”

“That didn’t sound like a question.”

“It wasn’t, Nikolai.”

“Zoya-”

“No.”

“Zo-”

“I know what you’re about to say and I don’t want to hear it.”

“Z-”

“All I want to hear is ‘yes, Zoya.’”

“Yes, Zoya!” Genya chirped. The grin on her face broke the tension in the air with a _snap_ , and after a moment Zoya heaved a sigh and pushed herself away from the desk to plop down in front of the fire opposite Genya.

“I _loathe_ the both of you.”

“And we you, lovely.” Nikolai lifted himself from his chair and stretched his arms over his head. His back popped loud enough to make him wince, and he rolled his shoulders to shake it off before strolling over to take the chair between his two advisors. “Zoya, you know why I didn’t say yes. We haven’t even verified the letters and contract yet.”

“Oh please.” Zoya rolled her eyes. Her eyes were one of her best features, and sometimes Nikolai worried they’d pop right out of her head with how much spinning they did. “You and I both know that tiny thing doesn’t have room in her for lies. She was scared half to death of you.”

“Or of you,” Genya pointed out primly. She was ignored.

“The contract’s real,” Zoya continued confidently. “And I know about the Ulmokinas. They have money, Nikolai. Money you need. She’s rich, she’s your age, and even that skinny frame of hers can probably get you an heir or two. And she’s West Ravkan. That will help silence their moaning about taxes. She’s no Shu princess, but she’s useful. She’s what you need.”

“And I’m sure just what _she_ needs is a husband who may or may not eat her on her wedding night. And, to be clear, I don’t mean eat her in any fun way.”

“Oh shut up, Nikolai. You’ve only aired that complaint a few hundred times.” Much to Nikolai’s dismay, Genya nodded in agreement with Zoya’s admonishment. Had his Tailor turned on him now too? Kings truly didn’t have friends or allies in their courts. He was utterly betrayed.

Ignoring of the devastating betrayal Nikolai had just suffered, Zoya forged onward. “We _will_ find a way to deal with your situation. But we may not get another chance like this, Nikolai. She is _literally_ engaged to you already. She’s exactly what you need.”

The king pursed his lips and shot Genya a quick glare. She stuck her tongue out at him. “…then why was she dressed the way she was?” he demanded after a moment’s thought. “If her family has money and she’s here to inform me of our romantic, fated, oh-so-useful engagement, you’d think she’d at least get the wrinkles out of her dress, wouldn’t you?”

“Well look at our little fashionista!” Despite the teasing, Genya nodded. Maybe she hadn’t totally betrayed him. “He has a point, Zoya. There was a lot that was off about her. She looked exhausted, for one. And that outfit was quite… nice, but not exactly what a countess should choose to wear to meet her royal fiancé. That cloak was… Well. _Nice._ ” Nikolai wasn’t sure how Genya managed to make the word sound so insulting.

“…fair.” Zoya drummed her fingers against her thigh with a frown. “That’s true. But my points stand. I’m sure there’s an explanation for all the rest.”

“Hm.” Nikolai looked toward the window again, unconsciously mimicking Zoya’s drumming. “There’s an easy way to find out. I can ask Tamar to go see just where our little countess spends the rest of her day. We _do_ need to take some time to check the contract anyway. There’s no point in making a decision until we get that done, and in the meantime we may as well find out what we can.”

 _And maybe I can find a way out of this._ As Zoya and Genya nodded, Zoya more reluctantly and Genya with a little grin, Nikolai smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, but he felt he rather deserved credit for trying. _Stranger things have happened, after all._

Somehow he doubted things would work out. A person only got lucky so many times in their life. Nikolai flexed his fingers, practically able to feel the tight scars lining them. He was beginning to suspect he’d used up his reserve of luck.

~

Back in the courtyard, standing before the beautiful double eagle fountain, Stella felt dazed. Surely it should be later in the day by now? Yes, her meeting with the king had been short, but… Saints help her. She was exhausted.

Knowing it would look odd if she lingered too long, Stella took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and pulled her cloak tighter around herself, and headed for the palace gates. Hard as she tried to stay focused on where she was going- she was only mostly certain she remembered the way back to the inn- her mind was still whirring too much for her to fend off distraction.

King Nikolai had been… nice. Quite nice, actually. And _Saints_ , he was handsome. But nice was more important. She’d not really been expecting patience and manners when she was barging into his life so rudely and with such strange news. In a way, it almost stung that he’d been so polite. Wondering about what might have been was selfish and silly, but what might have been had the war not come? Had her parents and his announced their engagement properly? Had they met as just an heiress and a prince? Would he have been so nice then? Would they-

 _Don’t be silly, Stella,_ she chided herself. What-if was a useless game to play. But still…

Oh well. What was done was done. Having to stay in the city another day and pay for a room another night wasn’t the best of outcomes, but it wasn’t unexpected. Of course the king would have questions, and of course he’d want to verify everything she’d claimed. It just would have been easier on Stella’s purse if he’d said no immediately instead of making her wait to hear it. But if the meeting tomorrow was short, she and Aruya could be on the road quickly. Then it would be off to Ketterdam and to… to whatever came next from there.

A fresh wave of exhaustion threatened to knock Stella off her feet as she made her way through the city. Tired as she was, she didn’t notice the silent, golden-eyed shadow who soon found and followed her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently in grad school, so updates will continue to be extremely slow. That said, thanks so much to everyone who's left kudos, bookmarked the work, or commented! Even one kudos makes my day, and I love getting comments!

The next morning came blessedly quickly. When Aruya had finally returned to the inn to meet Stella for a small dinner in their shared room, Stella tentatively suggested she work part of the next day with her to try and make more coin. The suggestion fell flat. It was only after a little delicate prying that Stella learned Aruya’s skinned knuckles hadn’t come from manual labor but from a fighting ring. The bruised-up ranger seemed pleased as punch with herself- especially after she’d dug into her cut of the winnings to order a whiskey from the inn- but Stella knew that line of work was one she herself was decidedly unqualified for.

So, needed nowhere ‘til noon, Stella had decided to sleep in. The inn wasn’t the most luxurious place to spend a lazy morning, but the strain of the past few weeks was sneaking up on her. Even when she rolled out of bed just an hour before her appointment with the king, Stella felt wrung out and heavy with exhaustion. Much as she had the day before, however, she forced herself to put on a brave face.

It lasted until she realized she didn’t have another dress to wear. Stella stood in front of her pack, staring down at the crumpled summer dress she’d thoughtlessly tossed aside the night before. Her heart was somewhere in the region of her stomach. “Idiot,” she whispered to herself as she crouched and reached for the dress. “You- you _idiot_.”

Shaking the dress out revealed the extent of the damage. Wrinkles warped it every which way. How could she have been so _stupid_? In everything else that had been happening, she’d never stopped to think about what needing to see the king two days in a row _meant_. It meant that she could show up to the palace in her travel clothes, all muddy and dusty and unsuitable, or she could wear her dress and cloak a second day in a row and look like she’d slept in her clothes! _He’s going to laugh me out of the room._

Hot tears welled up in Stella’s eyes, but she swallowed them back stubbornly. Crying over a dress was ridiculous. Crying never helped anything, and this was- It was-

With a choked sob, Stella wiped at her eyes. Everything was a disaster. But she was just going to have to get used to that, wasn’t she? Everything had been a disaster since the war, and everything was going to keep on being a disaster, and if all she could do was cry about it then she was no use to anyone. And yet here she was! _Crying_.

 _Ladies don’t cry, Stella_ , she heard Mama hiss. _Get yourself together and stop sniveling!_

Still trying to swallow her hiccupping sobs, Stella balled up the dress and crammed it into her pack. Her travel clothes would just have to do. She could clean them in time, at least, and if the king looked down on her for showing up in pants and a travel cloak and a man’s tunic then she would just have to smile and bear it. She’d brought it all on herself.

By the time Aruya returned from her morning out- more fighting, probably- Stella had managed to dry her eyes. Her travel clothes were as clean as they were going to get, but a sense of dread hung heavily over her. There were some stains on the pants that just weren’t going to come out, and she didn’t even have a belt to cinch her tunic. Using a ribbon carefully torn from her summer dress hadn’t worked, so the top hung off her awkwardly beneath her rose cloak. At least she had that cloak. It hadn’t wrinkled like the dress, and it was nicer than the filthy one she’d worn on the road.

Aruya hadn’t bother to clean herself up. A little part of Stella was jealous, and an even smaller part was annoyed. She pointedly ignored that second part, though. Aruya was a guard, not a noblewoman, and besides that Stella knew Ari was a thousand times more comfortable in her leathers and stained, functional gear than she would have been in anything else. Saints, Stella couldn’t even imagine her dressed any other way. Putting Aruya in a gown would be like putting a _kefta_ on a bear- amusing, up until someone got mauled.

“Ready?” Stella asked. Her false cheeriness grated on her _own_ nerves, so wasn’t much surprised when Aruya winced. “Sorry. That sounded… well, never mind. We should just get this done with. Cheerful or not. Shouldn’t we?”

“Your call.” Aruya dropped her pack by the door and bent down to check herself in the room’s tiny mirror. Apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, she straightened back up and stretched. “You okay, Stels? Looking a little pale.”

There was never any fooling her. “No. I’m… I’m stressed and tired and didn’t realize until this morning that I only had the one dress,” Stella admitted, her shoulders slumping. “But there’s no helping that. I just tried to clean my travel things.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Aruya gave Stella a quick once-over, then smiled. Aruya’s smiles never quite reached her eyes since the war, but they softened her harsh scars and made her look younger. “You look fine, Stella. You could be wearing a potato sack, and I’m sure he’d still look twice.”

The knot of anxiety wrapped tight around Stella’s chest eased a little at that. “You’re sweet, Aruya,” she replied in a soft voice. “Thank you. But you know it doesn’t matter how much he likes the look of me. He’s a _king_.”

Aruya shrugged. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I have no idea what you think that means. You’d be a good match for him. But-” She held up a hand, and Stella closed her mouth. “It’s all up to you. We have to go to Ketterdam, we go to Ketterdam. Need me to beat up men for money for a few more days, I’ll do it. I’m in your corner, Stels.”

That knot loosened further. With a small sigh, Stella stood and rolled her shoulders, then smiled at Aruya. It was a weak expression, but she was doing her best. “I’m really glad of that, Ari. Shall we?”

“No time like the present.”

~

The streets of Os Alta were no longer quiet. The city’s population had never returned in whole after the Darkling’s occupation, but Stella was pleased to some life in it. They’d arrived during dinner and her visit to the palace had been early in the morning, so this was the first time she’d seen Os Alta at work. There were butchers and bakers and barbers and shopkeeps hawking their wares by their stands. Here and there, children played silly games in tight groups. Elsewhere, stray dogs begged for scraps or rolled over onto the backs for belly rubs from passersby.

 _Someday,_ Stella reminded herself as they passed a group of mothers holding their babies in slings and chattering gaily as they shopped. Someday she’d bring Armav back to life too _._ She remembered the market days Papa had indulgently taken her too when she was young, and the fairs that would stop at Armav and draw in great crowds from the surrounding countryside. Stella’s home was nowhere near the size of Os Alta- it had a tenth of the population, if not less- but it had always seemed so vibrant when those happy occasions came. Since the war, however, Armav had been… tragic Diseased. Dying. There weren’t enough homes for the refugees who had chosen to stay, reluctant to leave the place their loved ones had been buried after the Darkling’s attack. There were too few healthy hands to rebuild. There was too little food to go around. And worst of all, the problem at the heart of everything else, was the simple fact that there was no _coin_. There was no coin to buy seeds to plant the fields, to pay the workers, to purchase building supplies or stock a healer’s office. For all the money the Ulmokinas had tied up in Ketterdam, there was no coin to be had.

Not until Stella was wed.

Not for the first time, Stella silently cursed her parents’ will. She’d no idea when the thing had been written, but it contained a clause that ensured she would have no access to her parents’ fortunes until she was married. It was a very Mama thing to do, of course. She’d always wanted the best for Stella, and more often than not that meant Stella had been kept on a short leash and guided with a firm hand. Any passion that wasn’t entirely ladylike had to be quashed. Training with the man-at-arms? No, certainly not, no matter how good little Stella was with her wooden axe. Pleading illness to avoid a dinner with a young noble was entirely too handsy? No, that simply wouldn’t do. _Grin and bear it, Stella. Men will be men, and a lady mustn’t complain._ After an entire childhood of such restrictive treatment, Stella had all but given up on chafing under it. But even now that Mama was gone both her meddling still lingered! Her frustrating, stubborn Mama had probably never thought for a moment that anything would happen to her and Papa before Stella was married. Especially given a match had already been arranged! But now, thanks to Mama’s always nudging Stella in the _proper_ direction, Armav was starving and Stella could find no solution until she was wed.

If Nikolai had still just been a prince, an eccentric second son instead of a war hero and a king, things would have been so much easier. It would have been acceptable then to ask him to honor the agreement. Imposing in such a way on a _king_? That was unthinkable. Besides, he was… he was something special. By all accounts he was like something out of a storybook, all charm and love for his people and wise rule, and Stella was simply _Stella_. She couldn’t demand a king honor a contract he knew nothing about. Especially not a king like Nikolai.

At least he’d been kind. Hopefully he’d be kind today too, and then Stella and Aruya could leave for Ketterdamn before midafternoon. There would surely be a businessman there in need of a wife and eager to claim a Ravkan title. She would find a husband, claim her inheritance, and return to Armav posthaste. It was doable. She would do it. She _would_. She had to.

A different pair of guards were standing watch when Aruya and Stella arrived at the Grand Palace some fifteen minutes early for Stella’s appointment with Nikolai. They were both young this time, and Stella realized with a pang in her heart that most of the First Army was probably young now. There had been a major recruiting drive after the war. How many young people had signed up to escape places like Armav?

The two exchanged uncertain glances as Stella and Aruya approached, but didn’t speak until the two women reached the top of the marble steps. “Ah… hello, ladies,” one of them ventured cautiously. “How can we help you?”

“My name is Countess Ulmokina,” Stella replied gently. Both guards started and jumped to attention. She couldn’t blame them for not knowing who she was when they saw her. She hardly looked the part she was playing. “I’m here for-”

“A meeting with the king!” the other guard interrupted. He immediately realized what he’d done and followed up with a frantic apology. “Ah, I’m sorry, your- uh, Countess. We just didn’t realize it was you. But we were told to expect you. Ah- sorry.”

“It’s not a problem.” Stella shook her head, careful to smile so she wouldn’t make the poor boy any more nervous than he already was. “Would you mind opening the door so we could wait inside?”

Before she was even finished asking, the youth nodded vigorously and knocked on the doors. Once again, they doors slid open to reveal the wide marble foyer. Stella made a point of thanking each guard politely, then scurried inside with Aruya striding along behind her. The doors closed behind them, but before they shut the voice of one of the guards reached them.

“That was smooth, Jerry.” Any reply was silenced by the doors.

Today it was Aruya’s turn to wander around the foyer and study it in bits and pieces. Stella was more focused on peering around corners and up towards the upper levels in hopes of spotting someone. She didn’t quite remember the way to the king’s office, and they were certainly early, but she had been hoping there would be someone there to greet her.

Apparently there wasn’t.

“Well,” she murmured, joining Aruya as the woman studied a picture of some early queen. “I suppose we wait. I’m not exactly sure where to go.”

“Then we wait,” Aruya replied with a shrug. “How long do you think these paintings take? Seems boring.”

“Well, they don’t actually always have to sit the whole time, but-”

Before Stella could finish her explanation, a voice echoed down from somewhere above them. “…as much as I love your enthusiasm, I’m going to need you to explain the reactions a bit slower. I’m following you on the engineering, but you and Genya talk about organic chemistry in another language entirely.”

Stella gasped and quickly darted back a few feet to try and peer up to the third level landing. Aruya’s eyes followed her.

“Is that him?” Aruya asked, sounding unimpressed.

Sure enough, it was. The king was just crossing the third-floor landing. A man in a purple robe behind him. Stella had no idea if she should call out to him or not. It would be rude to interrupt, wouldn’t it? And hardly ladylike to shout. But- oh, he was looking down. Caught staring, Stella waved and felt a rush of heat light up her cheeks. _I should not have been staring._

“Oh. Countess!” The king actually leaned over the railing with a confident smile and waved back. “I’ll be down in just a moment.” Sure enough, he made his way down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He was surprisingly graceful. The man following him was less so, but he seemed determined to not let the king shake him off his trail.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the king nodded to Stella with a warm smile. Today he was dressed in rich blue and gold, and Stella would have just _killed_ for a chance to study the cut of his coat. His tailor was clearly a genius. Someday, when she had the money to spare, she would make things just as fine. “Countess, how are you? I would have had someone waiting if I’d known you’d be early.”

“I’m fine, thank you Your Highness. I’m sorry we’re so early.” As Stella spoke, the man in purple caught up to the king. Up close now there was no missing the fact that his rich purple robe was a Fabrikator’s _kefta_. Hadn’t the king mentioned Genya? This had to be David, the third of the Triumvirate. _Thank the saints he’s not as intimidating as Genya and Zoya._ David wore thick glasses that made him look bug-eyed. They practically swallowed him. He offered Stella a quick, quizzical smile, then glanced at Aruya with a frown. “I do hope we aren’t interrupting anything.”

“No, no, not at all,” the king replied smoothly. “But I must confess to being curious about your impressive companion.”

“This is my guard, Aruya. She-”

“Ari?” The quiet man in purple interrupted Stella abruptly. His eyes, already magnified by his glasses, were wide. “I thought that was you!”

Stella blinked, and so did the king. They both turned to Aruya as one, only to find her looking unusually uncomfortable. Seeing her like that made _Stella_ uncomfortable. Aruya was the kind of woman to chase down a boar and kill it with a skinning knife, and here she was _fidgeting_.

“…yeah. Hi, David.”

“Wait.” King Nikolai looked between his advisor and Aruya, then looked between them again. “You two are acquainted?”

“Of course! Ari is-”

“Was trained here,” Aruya finished curtly, stressing the first word. “In the Little Palace.”

“Oh. You’re grisha?” Stella couldn’t blame Nikolai for his obvious surprise. Aruya really didn’t look like a grisha. Grisha were meant to be impressive and mysterious and powerful, and Aruya… Aruya was a wonderful woman. She was strong and clever and quite good in the wilds. But her preferred style of dress was the leather equivalent of an itinerant pilgrim’s rags, and her overall look strongly suggested that she thought dirt was a fashionable accessory.

“She’s a Fabrikator!” David crowed. With his wide smile and big eyes he looked like a very happy owl. “We were working on a project on petrified wood. Remember, Ari?”

“Um… yeah.” Aruya shrugged a shoulder. “Sure. Not a Fabrikator.” The last three words were flinty.

Stella wasn’t sure her parents had known about Aruya’s abilities. Actually she was certain that Mama hadn’t known, given her dislike of Grisha generally. But it had been Aruya’s powers that had saved her and Stella the night the Darkling’s hordes of demons ravaged Armav. Aruya had stumbled upon Stella in the manor’s foyer and started swearing up a blue streak. Neither of them had had a chance to ask the other anything before demons burst in through the front door. Acting on instinct as much as anything else, Aruya had turned and _shouted_ and the fine polished wood of the foyer floor had erupted into spikes that skewered the creatures in the lead. They’d writhed there, impaled and undying, and Aruya had grabbed Stella and forced her to run.

After that, Stella didn’t remember much else.

Aruya’s lack of enthusiasm was lost on David. Fortunately, Nikolai stepped in before the pleased Fabrikator could continue. “I take it you chose to leave the ranks of the Second Army?” he asked pleasantly. There was nothing judgmental in the question, but Stella noticed how closely Aruya scrutinized him before she answered.

“I don’t look good in purple.”

There was no room for argument in Aruya’s tone, and Nikolai didn’t push. “Fair enough. Well, I’m glad you found good work for yourself. And I’m sure the countess has been lucky to have your service,” he added with a nod towards Stella.

“Very much so,” Stella broke in smoothly. While she was fairly sure she was still passing as collected and calm, on the inside she was thanking every saint she could name that her friend hadn’t picked a fight with two of the most powerful men in Ravka. Diplomacy wasn't Aruya’s strong suit. “But my apologies, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to interrupt your morning. I know we’re quite early.”

“Don’t worry yourself about it,” he replied gallantly. “David and I were just discussing some of our latest projects. It can wait a while. Right David?”

David actually looked a little put out by the suggestion, but he nodded nonetheless. “Yes. It can. But we’ll talk soon?”

“I swear, after lunch. You can give me remedial chemistry lessons to your heart’s content.”

“As if.” David’s eyes darted towards the ceiling, but the gesture was so quick Stella wasn’t sure it could be called an eye roll. “After lunch, Nikolai.” He offered Stella a small bow and gave Aruya one last thoughtful look before scurrying back up the stairs. He disappeared down a hallway on the second floor.

Once he was gone, the king turned back to Stella with another smile. Saints, it really didn’t seem fair that one person could be so attractive and so _plainly_ aware of it. “Countess, shall we? I thought we could meet in my office. Someone will be bringing up a tray of food around noon, if I haven’t scared you off by then.”

Much to Stella’s surprise, he actually offered her his arm. After a moment, she curtseyed lightly and rested her hand on his elbow. The fabric of his coat felt exactly as nice as it looked. “As you wish, Your Highness. Thank you for your generosity.”

“It’s hardly generosity,” he replied with a laugh as he began escorting Stella up the stairs. “I’ll be eating too, after all.”


End file.
